


What Could Have Been

by metaphoricalmess



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Family Angst, Family Feels, Five Is Dreaming, Gen, Good Sibling Klaus Hargreeves, Good Sibling Vanya Hargreeves, Longing, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, dream fic, vivid dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23474851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoricalmess/pseuds/metaphoricalmess
Summary: When injured at the academy, Five sees what his life could have been like if he hadn’t left.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 6
Kudos: 182





	What Could Have Been

Five couldn’t wake up again. No, he didn’t want to. Even in his unconscious mind he could feel the pain blossoming from his abdomen and stretching to other parts of his body, spreading thinner the farther it reached. His bones were hollow, gravity-defying, like he would start drifting up toward the ceiling. He kept his eyes unaware of who or what lingered in the room with him. 

Since the 45 year hell he endured, his dreams had become so vivid it was hard to differentiate from reality; what kept him awake in the darkness. He could slip so easily into a listless haze of dreams he’ll never have, and he wouldn’t have strength to go back. 

He tried to stay away from it; the far off place reading _what could have been_ , painted in earthy pastels and wrapped in a silky blue bow. Tapping in meant pain, and despite this, the desire to unravel the escape all over again took his mind. 

The expanse of blackness faded into a breeze. Then came the images. They were fuzzy, like a newborn opening its eyes for the very first time. The amber leaves came first, scattering across an empty sidewalk. A midday sun laid dormant behind a grayscale sky and left the streets below in a comforting gloom. Then, a girl. One he knew. Her visage was blurred, but cleared when he started to become aware of his own sentience. The cognac eyes on that skinny, soul-sucked girl told him: Vanya. 

Her blank expression slowed and sagged. She was running toward him from the cast-iron gates of the academy, reaching for his face with her sickly pale hands. Five moved back a foot when she reached him, but moved forward one when she crumpled. 

“Five. Five, I thought you’d never come back.” Vanya whispered. She touched his legs rather awkwardly, as if he’d fade away with the breeze. She must’ve been fourteen, not much older than when he had left. 

“I’m sorry.” Five said. His voice was hoarse, breathless. He lifted his own hands and gazed at the dirt caked into the skin. “I couldn’t control it. It wouldn’t let me.” 

She stood and grabbed at his shoulders. “Where did you go? Why?” 

“I don’t know, Vanya. I don't. I swear, I’m sorry.” 

Reginald appeared behind her when she buried her face into Five’s chest. The rest of his siblings came pouring out the door, tripping over themselves. Grace stood deathly still, and watched from the doorframe. 

“Number Five!” 

Reginald was real. Five was sure of it. Every detail on his face was exactly how he remembered it. Better, even. Something warm erupted in his chest, and this time it wasn’t fear. 

“Dad.” Five croaked. The waterworks spilled from his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you realize how long you’ve been gone? Do you?” 

“No. I can’t remember.” 

Reginald stopped behind Vanya. He placed a wrinkled hand upon her tiny back. Five didn’t dare move. 

“Where did you go, boy?” 

“The future.” 

“And?” 

He paused. Telling him meant telling everyone everything. How they die, how he spent weeks sitting next to their bodies till they weren’t recognizable. No, he couldn’t. Five was getting another chance at the adolescence he threw away. God was being good to him. 

“I don’t remember!” 

“Please, Father, please believe him.” Vanya said. She turned her head to look into her father’s chest. “We missed him so much.” 

Reginald stared. Long, hard, cold, and typical of him. But some hard-to-find empathy bone in his body was working extra hard that day. “That we did, Number Seven. Come along then, we’ll talk inside.” 

Five felt something pure fill his head. It felt like jumping off the highest cliff in the world and being saved right before you hit solid earth… or seeing those you thought you’d never see again. 

He thought this reality was lost to time, but he could feel everything. Five could feel Grace running a hot, wet towel over the filthy scars on his body, he could hear every bittersweet melody Vanya played for him in the study, he could see Luther and Allison sitting quietly next to the tiger lillies in the garden, he could taste the ginger stew, the peanut-butter marshmallow sandwiches, and everything else he had missed. All of it lined up perfectly in front of him. 

“Don’t you think you should have a name?” Vanya had stopped her playing. Five looked up from his book, tilting his head. 

“I don’t really need one.” 

“But it’d be nice if you had one.” 

“I guess.” Five said. He shrugged. “What should it be?” 

Vanya set her violin on the red cushion and laid her bow beside it gently. “Arthur.” 

“... That was quick.” 

“I’ve had some time to think about it.” Vanya said, and sighed. “How sad would it be if you disappeared for even longer? I’d remember you as a number.” 

“Arthur.” He tested the name on his tongue. It came naturally. “I guess you’re right. That would be sad.” 

He wanted to remember the look in her face forever. It lit up for the first time in ages. “I’ll tell Grace, then… Arthur.” 

Before he could blink, they were seventeen. He had to take a razor to his face every other morning just to keep the stubble at bay. 

One morning, Klaus was gone. 

“He left this note.” Luther slid a piece of paper across the table to Reginald at the helm. 

He scanned the note for one minute too long. The children sat in silence for a good while till he started to crush the note in his fist. 

“It appears your dear brother has left the nest early. For the poison I presume.” His agitation was mild at best considering the circumstances. “We’ll leave him to it. He’s old enough to make his own decisions, be a man.” 

Five stood from his seat. The chair scraped against the dry floor. “We need to find him.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Why not? He ran away from home just like I did and you’re letting him off the hook. He could get hurt, or worse.” 

“If he wants to torture his body and disgrace my name, he can-“ 

“No!” 

The room fell to disquietness. Reginald’s eyes burned holes in his skin like the edge of a lit cigarette. 

“Fine then. Number Five, you’re tasked with finding him. You are not allowed to ask anyone else for help.” 

It was difficult. Klaus came and went without leaving much of a trace behind him. Five couldn’t be everywhere at once. 

When he did turn up, it wasn’t Five’s doing. Klaus was recognized after passing out in a thrift store and escorted back to the academy in a police car. He was starting to look awful; the sunken eyes, the paling skin. Five bribed him to stay back for a while, trying to help any way he could. But when Ben’s death struck the family, Klaus turned back to the streets, and back to his weakness. 

The seasons changed as they do in life. His siblings started to build their lives outside the tar pit they used to writhe in. However, no matter how far they went, or how deep they sank in their emotions, Five did everything he could to be a part of their lives. Christmas cards, birthday wishes, unexpected visits and more hugs than he thought he was capable of giving. They only knew the empathetic, intelligent Arthur Hargreeves, Number Five, the one who would help you in a heartbeat, and wouldn’t ask why. His family meant everything to him. His family made him feel whole. 

Five sat in his room. Alone. 30 years old, visiting his childhood home. He felt the bed cave in as he sat criss-cross on top of it. The blanket was musky, probably hadn’t been washed in years. 

Something small pelted his forehead. He touched a single finger to it and furrowed his brows when it came back streaked in red. 

No, crimson. 

Five lifted his head to see blood dripping from cracks in the ceiling. The tiny droplets turned into gushing streams that doused his body. He flailed and kicked himself off the bed, trying to scramble for the door. Five had his hand wrapped around the doorknob when the ceiling came crashing down on him. 

He was buried instantly. It snuffed him out painlessly and without sound. Five couldn’t lift himself out of whatever suspended him back in the expanding darkness. 

He couldn’t wake up again.

No. 

He didn’t want to. 

He wasn’t done with his life yet. 

Five pleaded with himself. He bargained as the light grew brighter, and screamed with no sound. There was no going back, not after a dream like that. He couldn’t start remembering the isolation, not again. 

Still, he was forced against the light. He pressed in till it swallowed him whole 

—— 

“Yoo-hoo… Five, are you in there? Are you dea-“ 

As soon as Five came to, he sat up straight, smacking his head into Klaus’ and falling straight back into the sheets. 

“Fucking hell…” 

Klaus hissed and held his forehead. “Jesus, sorry to wake you, you looked like… you were…” 

At Fives expense, the tears were still flowing from his eyes. He tried to keep them from spilling in front of his brother, but the longer Klaus remained himself, the harder they fell. 

“Hey, Hey, relax. Are you in pain at all?” 

He shook his head. “Get out, please.” 

Klaus lingered. He clicked his tongue and placed a careful hand on Fives chest. “You know, I’m here for you bud. My big head is very hard and it must have hurt so, so bad, huh?” 

“Klaus. Get out.” 

“Okay, Okay. But meet me downstairs. Trust me, it’s like, super important.” 

“I will.” Five said with a grunt. He kept rubbing at his eyes with the sleeves of his pajamas, reminded of his prepubescent body once again. 

When they were sufficiently rubbed raw, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and felt something heavy on his shoulders.


End file.
